$PL▲$H ¢LUB 7
SPLASH CLUB 7 T▲PE

Walking now from the cop cruise, bandaged but still seeping puss and blood and blacktop, you turn and thank smoking tire marks in the road. Looking at your house, you figure the night ain’t finished, so you take a walk, then a cab, then a subway to Gay’rhhag, ‘cause night time there never looked brighter. Still in sweatpants, you weasel through the bathroom window, baring witness to a penis-sizing competition, and money is totally involved, so with your own blood you scrawl $PL▲$H ¢LUB 7 on the side of a stall, but nobody notices. Walking up the stairs and into the dark/flashing room, and bodies are grinding atop of an aquarium dance floor stuffed with colored fish and neon seahorses.

“Didn’t know this was Karaoke Night,” you say to some strangers and they stare directly at your sweats/package. They point at the bar, and you head toward a sign that has “Tonight’s Special: Sweat,” and order a sweat, which looks like dirty water, but tastes like a Long Island iced-tea made with more liquor. One sip turns the club into a psychedelic meltdown: fish are eating the seahorses, dancers are mending their bodies with each other, everyone isn’t staring, your bandages come off like rotten fruit skin, and being carried around the club above everyone’s heads is like floating until you’re tossed out into daylight and it’s five hours later and 30 degrees hotter. Laying in front of the club, people gawking, you tell them to move along, but really they’re trying to bandage you back together and call the paramedics. The puddles of blood now reflect the sunlight into your eyes, and you lay in them, placing shades on your face, yawning at the nearing sirens.

• $PL▲$H ¢LUB 7: http://splash-club-7.bandcamp.com

$PL▲$H ¢LUB 7

SPLASH CLUB 7 T▲PE

Walking now from the cop cruise, bandaged but still seeping puss and blood and blacktop, you turn and thank smoking tire marks in the road. Looking at your house, you figure the night ain’t finished, so you take a walk, then a cab, then a subway to Gay’rhhag, ‘cause night time there never looked brighter. Still in sweatpants, you weasel through the bathroom window, baring witness to a penis-sizing competition, and money is totally involved, so with your own blood you scrawl $PL▲$H ¢LUB 7 on the side of a stall, but nobody notices. Walking up the stairs and into the dark/flashing room, and bodies are grinding atop of an aquarium dance floor stuffed with colored fish and neon seahorses.

“Didn’t know this was Karaoke Night,” you say to some strangers and they stare directly at your sweats/package. They point at the bar, and you head toward a sign that has “Tonight’s Special: Sweat,” and order a sweat, which looks like dirty water, but tastes like a Long Island iced-tea made with more liquor. One sip turns the club into a psychedelic meltdown: fish are eating the seahorses, dancers are mending their bodies with each other, everyone isn’t staring, your bandages come off like rotten fruit skin, and being carried around the club above everyone’s heads is like floating until you’re tossed out into daylight and it’s five hours later and 30 degrees hotter. Laying in front of the club, people gawking, you tell them to move along, but really they’re trying to bandage you back together and call the paramedics. The puddles of blood now reflect the sunlight into your eyes, and you lay in them, placing shades on your face, yawning at the nearing sirens.

• $PL▲$H ¢LUB 7: http://splash-club-7.bandcamp.com

Matthew Dotson

Revolution/Circumvention

As the revival of the tape label continues to enrich our lives with warm analog hiss and affordable production/retail costs, certain genres stick out within our growing collections as Especially Cassette-Friendly. Too many lush ambient/drone tape releases to ever keep track of wash ashore each day (see: Constellation Tatsu, Tranquility Tapes, Field Hymns), while aural terrorists can maintain a prolific assault on their fans via any number of noise merchants (American Tapes, Chondritic Sound, Fag Tapes). Lo-fi rock or experimental pop projects embrace the unique sonics of doin’ it straight-to-tape (Moon Glyph, Night People, some of NNA’s catalog), just as beat conductas gravitate to the medium for its low-end boost and compressed visual aesthetic (see Stones Throw’s cassette renaissance).

L.A.-based multi-instrumentalist Matthew Dotson takes a look at this taxonomy of tape-friendly genres, checks off all of ‘em, and pencils in a few that were missing. 2012’s Excavation overflowed with ideas, but Revolution/Circumvention (Already Dead, and already sold-out) manages to cram even more into 36 maximized minutes. The album’s two sidelong suites segue through so many styles: layered drone washes collide with a synth-pop beach-party; hip-hop beats thud alongside searing noise; acoustic guitar interludes hang out with abstracted IDM squelches. By never establishing firm ground to stand on, Dotson subverts expectations with every juxtaposition. What he lacks in cohesion, he makes up for with technical mastery, uniting disparate passages with a uniformly impressive level of production detail. If sampling the Revolution/Circumvention stream on Bandcamp feels like a shuffle through a particularly Zone-friendly iTunes library, sitting at home with the album in your tape deck feels like a friendly visit from a Zone-conquering mastermind.

• Matthew Dotson: https://matthewdotson.bandcamp.com
• Already Dead: http://alreadydeadtapes.com

Ka

“Our Father”

Based on the song’s intro (after the opening dialogue, Ka declares himself, “Back on my shit”) and outro (following the final chorus, he states, “Forgive me for what I’m about to do”), this song seems an obvious choice for the first of (hopefully) many videos to come from The Nights Gambit, which Ka plans to sell hand-to-hand in front of Fat Beats on July 13 (presumably with standard online distribution to follow, as was the case with his last album, Grief Pedigree). However, the genius of Ka’s multi-faceted DIY artistry (he produces his own beats, directs his own videos, and designs his own cover art) often lies in its easily overlooked subtleties — the freeze-framed “arm in drawer” at 2:21, the syncopated (and reversed) drum at 2:36, etc. Some advice for future Ka listening/viewing experiences: ignore or dismiss bits and pieces like these and you run the risk of missing the whole point.

• Ka: http://brownsvilleka.com

Nmesh

“Climbing The Corporate Ladder”

Welcome back to NMΞSH, where all your thoughts and dreams become reality. Here, we bring you our latest success-driven project, helping out clients as they’re “Climbing The Corporate Ladder,” housed in a purely silicon, real-dimensions bubble, where inside, aerial micro technodes swell your respiratory system, gauging your heightened sense of happiness, fear, exhilaration, wonder, [everything]. Match these with a double dose of touch and telekinetic sensory readings, monitored by a team of machines viewing your stability and vitals, ensuring your maximum comfort and control and success-drive. Become your mind’s eye..

..and, shit, you fell asleep because of the calm guiding voice and familiar background tones. Machines have you set and paid up for four hours. Shouldn’t have eaten a big lunch minutes before exiting your car and entering NMΞSH. Or maybe it was worth that and the blunt? But curiosity washes over an ocean, and there your dream sits on an island beach. Your feet in the sand rustle, as flashing lights shine out of the jungle terrain behind you, and a flood of dancing bikinis and board-shorts come raving out. While they dance and you dance with them, you try to delicately explain how dreaming doesn’t really mean anything beyond what your mind perceives. You tell them that focus is the key to opening all doors. All this doesn’t matter. I can’t believe I fell asle—

Head to NMΞSH now for a smooth treatment in “Climbing The Corporate Ladder,” which may possibly lead to “Dream Sequins®.” And don’t forget about your Nu.wav Hallucinations. Got it? Have you reached the top of that ladder? SUCCESS!!!!

• Nmesh: https://soundcloud.com/nmesh

Daytime Television

Youth With Skull

And you’re there in that day, that time when fiction-today is future-undefined, forever. Neon crystallized sunsets through the dragon’s eye looking-glass mirror: the mics are only hot/violent. Imagination is now in production of inhalants, and gangers rip the ride of be-kind protests. Two fingers — the middle and index — facing front and stretched straight, while the pinky and ring fingers are held down on the palm with the thumb. Holy fledged family. Dulled pencil tips. Smeared grey. But, nah, it ain’t negative-vibe like that, oo. It’s more like that wet sand and scrunched bikinis. Music clashing from umbrella to umbrella. You think that might be your boss? Which boss? You think while witnessing a nasty wipe-out, but she okay! A find/treasure from the ocean is held now in the same hand as before, outstretched and holding a clear pearl. The hand’s flesh and muscle and blood fade away, and within the spherical artifact, a cloud forms two eyes in hollow sockets. In three dimensions, the fleshless jawbone mouths, Youth With Skull. Cue: Title screen in a black-and-white snow-war engulfing the neon letters of Daytime Television. Let the beats bless and bathe you in 2013:

• Daytime Television: http://jonomilo.bandcamp.com
• Exo Tapes: http://exotapes.tumblr.com
• Splash Tapes: http://splashtapes.bandcamp.com

  

CHOCOLATE GRINDER is our audio/visual section, with an emphasis on the lesser heard and lesser known. We aim to dig deep, but we'll post any song or video we find interesting, big or small.